


Dead Perfection

by Tarlan



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-17
Updated: 2009-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder knew why the porn videos and phone sex were no longer enough; he was waiting for a dead man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's **MMOM2009** Challenge - Day 17

He'd come here for the sex because, these days, masturbating to his private porn collection or talking dirty to a stranger on the other end of the phone just wasn't enough. In a place like Washington DC it paid to know which establishments had a well-deserved reputation for being discreet. After all, what other city could boast so many high profile people where senators rubbed shoulders with high ranking military and businessmen?

Janine's was expensive; catering for those who could afford to pay for discretion. Normally Mulder wouldn't consider himself a rich man despite the considerable wealth he had inherited on the death of his father. Instead, he limited his spending to the purchase of good clothing and the odd trip to Puerto Rico--and Tunguska.

Mulder sighed, realizing why the videos and phone sex were no longer enough. A recent documentary about meteors had mentioned the Siberian forests, bringing back memories of that firm, muscular body pressed up against his. At the time he had been pushing back; wanting to see fear dance in those wide, green eyes, and enjoying the sheen of sweat upon the frightened face. He had gloried in his power over Alex Krycek, right up to the point where those eyes had turned as cold as ice. In all the time he had known Krycek, not once had the double agent pushed back until that day, cowering against the stinging retort of snide words and the physical blows that Mulder could not hold back.

Mulder had blamed him for everything that had gone wrong with his life, seeing Krycek as the visible face of the shadowy organization that had torn his sister from him and hurt his friends. In the years that followed he had learned enough to know that the blame lay with his father and Spender, and that even his mother had played a treacherous role in the loss of her own child. Still, Krycek had always been the easy target for his frustration and anger, with his views not softening even after he discovered the price Krycek had paid for his seeming betrayal in Tunguska.

Tunguska. Why did it always come back to that terrible place?

He shuddered at the memory of the black oil sliding across his face, infiltrating his body through nose, mouth and eyes. He recalled the smothering sensation as it tried to take control of him... and succeeded. Its alien thoughts had rippled through his mind, shoving his own thoughts into the deepest recesses while it stretched out to control his physical form. Mulder had no idea how much time had passed while he lay beneath the creature's influence, awaking sometime later feeling weak and sick. The scientists had said little, none of it in a language he could understand, and the guards had said even less though their meaning was far clearer as they demonstrated their verbal commands with sharp blows and shoves. All he knew and understood at the time was that Krycek had betrayed him, leaving him a victim of the sadists committing atrocities against the peasants living too close to Tunguska as they perfected a vaccine to fight the control of the Oilien within its human host.

Years later, the significance of Krycek's action became far clearer and with that knowledge came regret. Perhaps if he had trusted Krycek then some of the horrors of the past years could have been avoided. Instead, the planned colonization moved ever closer while unknown allies resisted and too often died.

Krycek had resisted and died, his life ending with a bullet to the head in a parking lot courtesy of AD Skinner, yet Mulder could not allow Skinner to take the full blame for his actions. At the time, they saw Krycek as an enemy, one who was intending to take Mulder out of the equation; his cryptic words were still undecipherable even after two years.

Mulder missed him.

It took months before he realized this; months of anticipation that led to nothing, with his eyes straying to his door, to his phone, expecting the previously unwanted and unannounced call that would both add to and partially solve the terrifying problem facing humanity.

The end, when it came, was swifter than anyone could ever imagine. Colonization failed but no fanfare heralded the Oiliens' defeat, no flags waved and no one held a ticker-tape parade to salute the victors. Of those who knew about the deadly war, none could provide an explanation for how humanity had defeated the super-soldiers and the shapeshifters.

Perversely, Mulder had returned to his old apartment in Hagel Place and waited for the answer to come to him, bitterly disappointed when days, then weeks passed by with no phone call or tap on his door to break the silence of the conspiracy. Eventually, he realized that he was waiting for a dead man; a man he had seen killed before his eyes and yet had felt nothing until long after the fact.

Delayed shock, perhaps? Post traumatic stress?

The realization had hit as hard as any body blow when a moment of bored channel surfing alighted upon the flattened forests of Tunguska and the memories came flooding back. Since then, no other thoughts could distract him, and no acts of solitary physical pleasure had assuaged the desire he had felt--that he still felt--for Krycek.

"Good evening, sir."

Mulder nodded and stepped into the low-lit club, his eyes catching flashes of people moving in and out of the deeper shadows that provided privacy. An eidetic memory filled in the gaps of a partially exposed face, giving him a name and other details about that person but he made no acknowledgment of recognition. He could hardly expect them to value his privacy if he was not prepared to offer the same in return.

The only people standing in pockets of light were the _companions_ offering their discrete services, allowing the clientèle to look upon them and then dissolving into the dark shadows once selected.

Another flash of familiarity had his heart thumping hard in his chest until he could convince himself that all he had seen was someone with either the same tilt of nose as Alex Krycek or that his mind and the shadows were playing tricks on him. He shook off the feeling and deliberately moved towards that elusive shadow because maybe that's what he needed; a Krycek lookalike. Except Mulder already knew that wouldn't work, that he couldn't replace what he'd never had with a replica for no matter how close the likeness, it wouldn't be Alex.

He paused, closing his eyes in resignation before squaring his shoulders and walking away. Ahead he could see the open door of a private room and he slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. He skirted the wide couch placed strategically in the center of the room and leaned over the small sink in the far corner so he could splash water on his face, all the while berating himself for coming here. The tingling along his spine warned him of another's presence in the room, forcing Mulder to look up, and he froze as he stared straight into the familiar, wide-spaced eyes reflected back in the low light placed above the mirror.

"You're dead," Mulder stated dryly, and the reflection in the mirror smiled; long dark lashes fluttering down over green eyes that had haunted both his sleep and waking hours. The Cupid's bow stretched out as the reflection's lips parted to reveal a glint of perfect white teeth.

Mulder's gaze dropped to the apparition's left arm and saw flesh and blood fingers instead of a prosthetic. The fingers waggled as if taunting Mulder with their presence, the smile widening.

"The truth is closer than you think," Alex offered in response, with a honeyed voice that sent shivers through Mulder; the words so beautifully cryptic, and so reminiscent of Alex Krycek.

Mulder resisted the urge to turn around, half afraid that this vision of Alex would disappear, proving to be just another hallucination dredged up by his subconscious desire to see him again. He drew in a breath as the phantom fingers reached out, shocked when they closed around his shoulder, solid and real. Mulder spun around, hands reaching out to grasp Alex, registering the flare of surprise that momentarily widened the green eyes.

Real.

He could feel the bunching of muscle beneath the expensive cotton of Alex's dark dress shirt, feel the heat of warm flesh against his fingers.

"Clone or shapeshifter?"

Alex gave the ghost of another smile, dark lashes flirting with Mulder, his answer a kiss so hard and dirty that Mulder could only clutch tighter when his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. The momentary sensation of falling ended when he felt the couch beneath him. Alex dropped to his knees between Mulder's spread thighs, the heat of desire shining in his eyes, reminding Mulder of that time Alex had stopped before him in his darkened apartment. His cheek burned with the remembered heat of a kiss and he groaned as fingers worked open his pants, drawing out his already hard cock. He gasped as Alex's tongue swirled over the head, teasing the sensitive slit before swallowing him down, throat muscles rippling around him before Alex pulled back an inch.

One hand slid under Mulder's shirt, fingers toying idly with a nipple as Alex sucked and licked, making soft, pleasing sounds that reverberated along the column of sensitive flesh. The other hand had gone but Mulder could hear the sound of material parting, of flesh taken in hand. He felt the rock of hips that synchronized so perfectly with that beautiful mouth, and came hard, too sudden to give warning but Alex drank every drop, holding on until Mulder collapsed backwards against the couch, completely spent.

A tiny dribble of semen trickled from the corner of Alex's generous mouth as his lips went slack, his eyes glazing over as his hand moved faster. Mulder couldn't look away, desperate to see Alex come apart and he was rewarded moments later. Alex's head sank onto Mulder's stomach, his panting breath warm on the exposed skin. Mulder reached out and stroked the short dark hair.

"Clone or shapeshifter?" he asked again, and felt Alex laughing softly against his belly before the dark head rose, sated eyes holding his in amusement.

"What do you want to believe?"

"That you're the real Alex Krycek."

The startled eyes widened before filling with an awe that reminded Mulder of their very first meeting, and the hero-worship so evident in the naïve agent, fresh from the academy.

"Then believe," Alex replied huskily, and Mulder simply knew it was the truth, that this really was Alex Krycek in every way that mattered.

As he reached for Alex, drawing him onto the couch to lay by his side, he murmured softly, "I believe."

END

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